The Painter (vignette) (Patreon)

Sometimes it feels like I’ve been in this building forever.  I don’t actually remember the last time I left.  I leave my apartment to mingle with the neighbors, but I can’t remember when I last walked through the front doors.  I like to go down the lobby and stare out through them, but I never cross the threshold.  

It’s such a beautiful building; much more so than when I first moved in, even though I don’t remember exactly when that was.  So much of my life before now is hazy and growing hazier by the day.  I know I had a life before this.  I just turned thirty, and despite how it feels I know I can’t have been here this whole time.  People don’t just spring, fully grown, from old apartment buildings.  Do they?

I still remember when I used to walk by.  The crumbling block letters spelling out “Cynwyd Manor” above the door were impossible to ignore.  After some quick searching on the internet I learned that the place was built in the 1920’s and was one of the more popular apartment buildings in the city, at least until the mid-fifties.  I couldn’t find out what actually happened, I’m an artist, not a historian, but by all accounts it was seemingly abandoned overnight.  There’s no record of where the tenants went or what happened.  They were just there one day, and then the building was empty the next.  Over the years the rest of the city sprung up around it and everyone seemed to forget it was here.  

I didn’t forget.  I’d talk to it sometimes when I was out on my walks.  Something about the architecture, coupled with the deep, red brick exterior and black trim around the edges always made me stop and stare.  The building never talked back, but I like to think that it heard me.  I’d stand there for hours, imagining it’s deep, rumbling voice in my head.  After a few weeks I took our relationship to the next level and finally snuck inside.  

“Sneak” might not be the right word.  The doors were unlocked and there was nothing to prevent someone from entering, so I let myself in.  My earliest memories of the building, or at least as far back as I can clearly recall, are of rot.  The building was crumbling and dirty, filled with garbage and decay.  There was so much standing water on the first floor that it was like a swamp, but you’d never know that now.  The more people that move in, the nicer it becomes.  The marble floors and columns in the lobby are no longer tarnished and cracked, but gleaming with their bright brass inlay and a shining polish.  The carpet on the grand staircase that cuts down from the second floor is no longer stained and matted.  All of the mold is gone, as though it had never been here in the first place.  

But that first day was a different story.  I made my way through the now-beautiful lobby and up the stairs, afraid they’d crumble the whole time.  The rotting wood floors threatened to give way with each step, but I trusted that my friend wouldn’t hurt me.  I made my way higher up, peering in the empty rooms as I went, feeling a strange thrill.  The building didn’t feel empty.  It’s hard to explain, but it felt like there were already people here, I just couldn’t see them.  When I made it to the top floor I found one apartment in the far corner that showed recent signs of life.  There was sparse, ratty furniture scattered about, but it was the room in the back with the skylight ceiling and giant windows that I fell in love with. 

There were already even painters’ supplies.  Tubes of paint, canvases, easels, mirrors; it was like the building knew what I wanted.  How could I refuse the gift my friend was giving me?  I made up my mind on the spot.  I was renting a small, bug-filled efficiency and didn’t have much to begin with other than my supplies, and the ones I found waiting for me were nicer.  Squatting here wouldn’t be much different.  I think that was the last time I left.  I moved in and just started painting the landscapes I saw outside the windows.  

I don’t know how long it was after that before Jeremy showed up.  I was standing by the studio window one morning, painting the sparse, twilight landscape outside.  The giant, black sun hung low and smoldering in the purple sky, casting long, dark shadows on the shifting desert sand.  I could see shapes flitting around in the dim light but they never came close enough for me to make out what they were.  The massive, crumbling towers were visible in the distance and I wanted to capture them since they sometimes vanished.  The new landscape just started showing up outside my windows one afternoon.  None of the other neighbors see it, but I know it’s there.  Some days I look out on a regular city skyline, and others I find myself staring out at a vast, cosmic desert.  

It was one of the first times I’d seen it and I was more than a little annoyed at having my work interrupted, but the person entered anyway.  Since I was the only one in the building I didn’t bother with shutting my door and I turned to find myself staring at a fit young man, with a handsome face and a thick, full head of dark brown hair.  I was confused when he showed me the ad and said he was here about the modeling position.  I didn’t recall putting out an ad, but I hadn’t painted an actual person in so long that I wasn’t going to pass it up.  

Some artists like to just take photos and work from those, but I always liked having the model present.  I paint fast, even faster since moving in, and can usually get through most of the work in one sitting.  I might touch it up later, but since we’re neighbors by that point it’s not hard to get someone to come back.  

Everyone seems to fall in love with the building after I paint them.  Jeremy was so worried at first.  I understand why; he looked very different when he left my studio than when he arrived, so imagine my surprise when I saw him in the building the next day.  He was in a fully furnished apartment and suddenly the building had power and plumbing again.  He was in a much better mood, too.  His fear from the previous day was gone and he was excited to see me.  

There have been so many since then.  With each one, the building gets a little nicer and a little bigger.  There were only a handful of apartments on each floor, but now there are dozens of men, all from my beautiful paintings, living here.  I find new hallways and doorways all the time now.  I keep hoping that one of them will open up on the starless vista I see from my window, but so far all I’ve found is more rooms.  Every time I find a new one, it’s not long before a new model shows up to be painted.  I have a good feeling about the new door I found in the basement.  It’s not like any of the other doors I’ve seen; it’s made of a shiny, black stone that’s frigid to the touch.  I want to go explore it, but I have another model coming.  I can feel him walking through the front doors now.  Soon his feet will be trudging up the stairs and he’ll be standing in my studio like all the rest.  

**********

Zack felt slightly nervous as he made his way up the wide, ornate stairs in the lobby.  Given the state of the surrounding neighborhood and the crumbling masonry outside, the plush interior wasn’t at all what he was expecting.  Nor were the people.  As soon as he walked inside he ran face-first into a wide, hairy wall of muscle.  The man was an absolute beast.  He looked middle aged, with a shaved scalp and scratchy stubble on his round, full cheeks.  His rough, flat features were intimidating enough, but it was his lack of clothing that caught Zack’s attention.  The man’s brawny, well-muscled body was clad only in what looked like a small, white speedo.  The stark material practically glowed against the man’s tanned skin that was covered in a thick carpet of jet black hair.  Whoever he was, he was built like a power lifter.  Zack was used to the meatheads at his gym, but this man was on another level.  His mammoth arms were forced out at such a wide angle from his huge, round pecs and broad back that Zack doubted if he could clap his hands together.  The man had a protruding gut that looked like a beachball made of muscle and each of his thighs seemed larger than Zack’s entire torso.  

“Whoops, sorry!” The man had rumbled in a voice so deep it rattled Zack’s chest.  The young blonde blushed as he looked down and saw the impossible lump in the front of the man’s speedo, only to look up in time to see his mostly bare, hairy globes bounce and shift as the hirsute man lumbered up the stairs.  

“Must be a pool around here…” Zack muttered to himself as he reached the second floor.  He didn’t see where the man had gone, but even though he was just a few steps in front of him, he was nowhere in sight when Zack stepped into the hall.  

The ad he’d found said he needed to go to the fourth floor, but Zack was having a hard time finding the stairwell.  He walked down one hallway only to find a dead end, and then became turned around when he headed back in what he thought was the direction of the stairs, only to come to an unfamiliar intersection.  

“What the fuck…” he said, scratching at his head.  He felt a rush of relief when he saw a man standing outside one of the apartment doors holding a laundry basket.  Unlike the furry beast he’d encountered in the lobby, this person looked relatively normal from what he could see.  Their back was turned, but they seemed to be about his age.  The man’s shirtless torso tapered as it reached his gym shorts, with broad shoulders and toned, solid arms.  “Uh, excuse me,” Zack said, walking over.  “Can you point me in the direction of...the...stairs…” 

Zack’s voice dried up in his throat when the man turned around.  He’d been right about the age.  The young man had a handsome, boy-next-door face under his shaggy brown hair and couldn’t have been more than twenty two or twenty three.  Standing in his gym shorts, he almost could have been one of the guys Zack played football with on Sundays.  The man had a solid, defined build, with prominent abs and a set of strong, hairy legs to complement his sculpted arms.  When he’d had his back turned, there was nothing to indicate that he was anything other than an ordinary, fit young man.  Which is why the last thing Zack expected to see were the pair of large, perky breasts where the man’s solid pecs should have been.  The contrast between masculine and feminine was further driven home when Zack abruptly turned his eyes towards the floor to look away and saw the long, thick cock outlined under the man’s shorts.  

“Sure!” His tone was friendly as he nudged his apartment door open.  “This building can be super confusing at first.  You going up to the fourth floor?”

“Uh...ye..yeah,” Zack stammered.  He didn’t want to be rude, but he couldn’t hide his shock.  

The other man was either oblivious to his discomfort or had just grown used to that reaction.  “Are you getting painted?  He does such good work!”  

Zack kept his eyes glued to the other man’s face.  As long as he didn’t look down he could tell himself he was just talking to a regular guy.  

“Who’s that, hon?”  A squeaky voice called from the open doorway.  “Did we get a new neighbor?”

“Yep!” The shirtless man said with a broad grin.  

“Oh, uh, no, I’m just here to...model…” If it wasn’t already there, Zack’s jaw would have hit the floor when the walking brick of muscle came waddling out.  He was built like the man Zack had run into in the lobby, minus the copious hair and about two feet of height.  The short man was as wide as he was tall, with a seemingly impossible amount of muscle packed onto his compact frame.  His chest seemed almost as large and round as his friend’s, but instead of being soft and supple his pecs were like a granite shelf.  It was hard to guess his age with the way his round face sat on his neck-less shoulders, but Zack guessed it to be the same as the busty, taller one.  His head was shaved as smooth as the rest of him, and the stocky little pit bull was clad only in a pair of bright green briefs that were stuffed so full they pulled down and open in the front, exposing the base of his soda can cock.  

“I think we’ve all modeled for him at some point,” the little muscle monster chirped.  

The taller one nodded, causing his chest to bounce slightly.  Zack couldn’t help but picture the shorter man’s wide, rough little hands kneading and squeezing them.  “He’s a little weird...but a nice guy.”  

Zack tried to process these two calling someone else weird as they pointed him down the hall towards the stairwell.  “Fuckin’ artists, man,” he said under his breath, disappointed to find that the dimly lit stairs only went up.  The busy, faded damask pattern on the ratty wallpaper was disorienting, and the old wooden stairs creaked so loud they sounded like falling timbers.  After the interaction he’d just had with the two strange looking men, Zack was ready to leave if he could have found the exit.  The young blonde had always thought of himself as open minded, but he’d never encountered a situation like that before.  Despite his good looks and the amount of time he spent without his clothes on while modeling, Zack was actually fairly modest.  It was one thing to disrobe in front of one person in a studio; it was another to walk around baring it all like the men he’d seen so far.  

He made his way up the flight of stairs to the next floor and pushed the door open just in time to hear two people yelling.  Zack was hit with a rush of dizziness when the old, oak door swung open to reveal another long hallway.  Before he could piece together what was throwing him off, a deep, booming voice rang out from the far end.  

“Are you coming or not?”  The unseen voice called from the left side of the hall.  

A second, exasperated voice responded from the right.  “I’m coming!  I’m coming!  Just hold on a second.  Geez...”  Zack froze when a naked man emerged from the apartment.  Holding his position at the other end of the hall, he could see that the stranger’s thin, tan body was covered in lean, shredded definition under a smattering of dark hairs.  From what he saw of it, the other man’s face was as sharp and angular as the rest of his body, with short cropped dark hair and a pair of glasses resting on his prominent nose.  There didn’t appear to be an ounce of fat anywhere on the man’s exposed frame, but what really caught Zack’s attention was the massive, rigid cock standing straight out between the toned thighs.  Even from his current distance, it seemed impossibly large against the rest of the man’s relatively shapeless body.  “Alright...alright...here I am,” the man laughed as he disappeared into the apartment across the hall.  

Zack paused, waiting for the door to close.  He thought again about retreating back down the stairs, but then he remembered that he had no idea how to find his way back to the front doors in the labyrinthine building.  He sighed, shaking his head and steadying himself.  “Seriously though...what the fuck is going on in this place…” 

He received an answer a few moments later when a deep, bellowing groan echoed down the hall.  “OOOOOHhhhhhh….fuck yeeeeessssss…”  It was followed by a series of wet slapping noises and quieter whimpers.  

His face a bright shade of red, Zack did his best to hurry past the open door.  He told himself he wouldn’t look.  It was none of his business and he had no desire to watch two guys have sex anyway.  He tried to focus instead on the criss-crossing pattern in the worn, blue and gold carpet but, his curiosity getting the better of him, as soon as he passed the open door his head started to turn.  

He looked in and had an unobstructed view of two men going at it on a large couch.  The thin, ripped man he’d seen cross the hall was standing with an older, muscular man’s legs hefted onto his thin shoulders.  The standing man looked to be in his late twenties while the prone man looked to be in his late forties, and Zack couldn’t help but notice the older man’s striking good looks.  He had a full head of salt and pepper hair above the handsome, symmetrical features that were twisted by his ecstatic moans.  

Zack was used to seeing handsome men on his modeling gigs, and the older man easily could have qualified with his lantern jaw, thick lips, and high, stubbled cheeks.  That same stubble spread across his broad, built pecs and down the ripped abs that Zack could see crunching together while his equally furry, wide thighs were lifted into the air.  The man’s piston-like arms clutched at the couch as he was stabbed over and over in rapid fire succession by the younger man’s giant club.  His bulging pecs bounced with each slam and his piercing, ice-blue eyes were half closed under the onslaught.  

It took Zack a moment to figure out why he was still staring.  At first glance, the duo seemed like nothing more than two guys going at it.  They were both good looking in their own right, and made an even more striking team considering the age difference.  Zack turned away and was opening the stairwell door when it finally hit him.  While the younger man had been overly endowed, Zack had barely been able to see the older man’s tiny, nearly invisible nub poking out from his dense, dark bush.  

Zack’s heart started racing as he climbed the stairs to the fourth floor.  He told himself over and over that it was just a trick of the architecture that made the building seem so much bigger inside than it looked from outside.  His hands shook against the brass doorknob as he swung the old door open, bracing himself for more bizarre tenants.  

“Ohhhh thank god…” he laughed, breathing a sigh of relief at seeing that the fourth floor was largely unoccupied.  There were only a few doors on either side of the hall and an open one at the far end.  His growing claustrophobia faded at the sight of the bright daylight streaming out of the open door.  “Uh, hello?” He called as he knocked on the frame and stuck his head in.  

“Zack?”  The anxious young blonde was greeted by a thin, disheveled man that looked only a few years older than himself.  He had a thick, shaggy mop of brown hair and a long, drawn face.   His worn t-shirt and tattered jeans were so covered in paint that the original fabric was barely visible underneath.  The man’s gentle tenor didn’t sound like the gravelly voice of the person that Zack had spoken with on the phone, but he’d clearly been expected.  

“Yep, that’s me,” Zack said, doing his best to appear casual.  He was still rattled by his trip up through the building.  “This is an, uh, interesting place…” he laughed nervously.  

“It certainly is,” the painter said, motioning for Zack to follow.  

“I met a couple of the other tenants on my way up. Is everyone here an artist or something?”  

The painter laughed and shook his head.  “No...but they’re all unique, aren’t they?”

“That’s….one word for it.”  Zack followed the painter into the bright studio, comforted by the warm sunlight streaming in through the skylight overhead.  “Wow!” he gasped, looking at the array of finished canvases stacked up against one wall.  There were portraits of various men mixed with what looked like psychedelic landscapes, all stunningly realistic.  They almost looked like photographs with the amount of detail poured into each one.  “Did you paint all these?”  

The painter nodded as he gathered his materials.  “Every single one.”  

Zack blushed when he recognized one of the portraits as the older man he’d just seen getting nailed.  Whoever he was, he was even more impressive upright.  His hairy, muscular body radiated strength and masculinity, even with the tiny, thumb sized nub poking out between his sturdy thighs.  As he looked over the paintings, Zack noticed that all of the men had a unique characteristic to them in some shape or fashion.  “Looking at your other models...I don’t know if I’m what you’re looking for,” he said, scratching his head awkwardly as he turned away from the artwork.  “I’m not really that, uh, special.”

The painter cocked his head and looked him up and down with a dismissive wave.  “Nonsense.  Everyone is special in here.  If you’re ready we can go ahead and get started?  Good,” the man’s smile was disarming and Zack suddenly felt foolish for questioning.  “Go ahead and disrobe and then stand on the “X” taped on the floor.”  

Zack nodded, kicking his shoes and socks off.  He peeled out of his tight t-shirt, exposing his smooth, athletic torso.  Every inch of his body had been carefully developed.  Zack’s interest was fitness modeling, and the young stud knew that being overly built was just as bad as being too thin.  He constantly monitored his workouts and diet to keep himself squarely in the middle.  He had broad shoulders and a wide back that were just big enough to show off the taper formed by his trim midsection.  His pecs were round and firm without being overly bulky, just like the strong, defined arms that hung next to them.  His flat stomach was covered in ripped abs that pointed the way to the heavy, stuffed bulge in the light grey briefs that became visible as he dropped his tight jeans.  Zack was especially proud of the thighs that he managed to keep strong but not bulky, and the ass that was perky and round without being excessive.  Coupled with the long, thick hose that flopped free when he pulled his briefs down, it was easy to see how the young blonde got work.  

He walked over to the tape on the floor and used the mirror across from him to get into the right pose.  He was instructed to hold his hands behind his head, causing his arms to flex naturally, and turn his lower half slightly to the side.  This let him show off his strong chest, tight abs, dangling cock, and perky bubble all at once.  “Perfect!” The painter said with a quick clap.  “Just hold that for me.”  

Zack felt a rush of pride at the sight of his reflection and the thought that his good looks would be immortalized on canvas.  He’d had plenty of photos taken, but he’d never posed for a portrait.  He let his mind wander, going into an almost meditative state as he stood.  It was a trick he’d learned early on since modeling for hours on end was taxing both mentally and physically.  The warm sunlight helped and he soon lost track of how long he’d been standing there.  From what he could see out of the corner of his eye, the painter was a blur of rapid motion behind his canvas.  He took a deep breath and drifted off.  

Almost immediately his thoughts went back to his trek through the building.  His body tingled as he remembered how solid the man in the lobby had felt when they ran into each other.  Zack wasn’t accustomed to thinking of himself as small compared to most guys, but that was the only way to describe how he’d felt.  Everything about the man had been huge, including the coiled snake inside the speedo.  

Zack felt a strange warmth spread over him at the thought.  He could practically see the thick outline in front of him again, and he started to wonder what it looked like when it wasn’t confined.  His mouth watered at the mental image of the hairy beast standing naked and hard in front of him to the point where he had to swallow to keep from drooling.  Zack’s lips tingled as he imagined how good it would feel to wrap them around that solid, aching organ.  He could practically smell the sweaty musk that came from having his face buried against the man’s solid, muscle gut while he choked on the oozing rod.  He was never happier than when his mouth was busy.  

The muscle beast faded, replaced by the strangely busty young man he’d met in the hallway.  

Instead of thinking about the shapely breasts, the only part of the athletic man that Zack should have had the slightest interest in, all he could think about was the long, dangling rod he’d seen lurking under the man’s shorts as he imagined it gliding across his tongue.  There was another shift and Zack was stretching his jaw to the limit around the short muscle man’s thick, chubby cock.  He could hear the man’s squeaky groans of pleasure ringing in his ears as his palms started to burn with the sensation of granite muscle flexing against them.  

It was all so vivid.  Zack didn’t feel like he was daydreaming as much as it felt like he was reliving actual memories.  He knew exactly what the wiry man from the hallway’s impossibly huge cock tasted like as he thought about running his tongue along the underside and around the head.  On the opposite side of the coin, Zack could feel the older man’s strong, hairy thighs squirming against his face as he worked the entirety of the small package, balls and all, in his mouth at once.  

It didn’t stop at the men from the building.  The blonde stud’s head swam with memories of all the countless men in countless locker rooms he’d seen over the years.  Even his buddies he’d grown up with; his jaw ached from the sudden memory of countless hours spent with his face buried in lap after lap.  

“Gah!”  Zack gasped, his vision clearing.  He blinked his eyes rapidly to try and rid the confusing thoughts from his head and was immediately aware of his rigid, aching cock.  He had no idea how long he’d been standing there like that and attempted to stammer out an excuse, only to find that he couldn’t.  No matter how hard he tried, his body wouldn’t respond.  He couldn’t turn his head or move his mouth or do anything to cover himself.  All he could do was stare at his reflection while the painter’s hands continued to fly across the canvas.  

His embarrassed, frantic attempts at struggling kept Zack from noticing what was wrong at first, but it eventually dawned on him that his reflection didn’t look quite right.  His eyes were the same, but the rest of his face belonged to a stranger.  His sandy blonde hair was now a bright, golden yellow that sat in a short pompadour, while his prominent nose had receded to a small button.  The trimmed beard that he always wore was gone, exposing a set of exaggeratedly high cheekbones and showing off the plump, silicone injected lips that he knew were perfect for his favorite hobby.  

The changes didn’t stop at his face.  If he could have, Zack would have screamed at the bowling ball biceps that had replaced his carefully built arms.  They were absolutely massive, each one looking almost as large as his thighs.  To make matters worse, a set of oversized mounds had sprouted from his chest.  His modest pecs were now huge, muscular slabs, looking comically large and round above his tiny waist.  

Zack gasped again, his head continuing to fill with strange new memories.  He suddenly loved the way his muscle tits bounced up and down every time someone rode him, and he could feel the intense jolts of pleasure that came whenever someone licked or tweaked his big, hard nipples.  Zack watched his skin take on a deep tan as he saw himself, constantly shirtless, showing off his overly built upper half.  He started to feel like he would snap at the middle.  The changes continued spreading downwards, causing his abs to become even more prominent while his sides drew inwards and left him looking disproportionately top heavy.  

While he wrestled with his terror and confusing lust, the painter kept working.  Zack could only watch with horrified eyes as his perky rear expanded.  It pushed ever outwards, defying gravity as it grew and grew.  The new Zack, the one that so enjoyed going down on guys and playing with his oversized pecs, absolutely loved his huge rear.  He loved showing it off and making it bounce, clap and shake.  More than the way it looked, he loved the way it worked.  Like his plump new lips, his muscular globes completely enveloped the other guys whenever he bottomed, which was often.  The old Zack was mortified at the thought of himself on all fours, or on his back with his growing thighs in the air, or straddling someone’s lap, but at the same time he couldn’t wait to do it again.  

His toned thighs grew to accommodate his ample new rear while the painter’s motions slowed.  He didn’t know who he was anymore.  He remembered his life as it should have been, but those memories were steadily being crowded out by new ones.  His cock started to twitch and tingle and he knew the painter was putting down the finishing touches.  He braced himself for the worst, his vision blurring.  

His darting eyes landed on the finished portraits and Zack saw a flash of the men for what they’d been before.  Like himself, the paintings didn’t reflect the men who’d entered the room, but the ones who’d left.  The diminutively endowed older man was suddenly hung like a horse with a slighter build.  He was still middle aged, but appeared significantly less masculine and imposing without the muscle and fur.  Zack only got a brief glimpse before the portrait was back to being that of a handsome, micro-dicked stud.  

He knew that’s how it was for all of the men he’d seen as even his memories started to shift and blur.  The older man from the portrait’s thin, hung partner had been beefy and average between the legs when he’d started.  The short little muscle man had been tall and lean, and the fit young man with the mismatched chest had been slight and twinkish to begin with.  He thought back to the hairy muscle beast from the lobby and saw him as a young man much like himself in place of the older, burly hunk.  

He fought against the rushing tide of new memories, but it was no use.  His cock was aching and twitching, and Zack couldn’t remember if it was the right size or not.  Something in his brain told him it should be longer, but at the same time he was perfectly content with the way his hard five inches looked between his meaty thighs.  It wasn’t actually that small, it just seemed that way when compared with the rest of his ample muscle, and it left a cute little bulge in the tiny briefs he loved so much. 

“GGGUUUhhhhh!”  Zack shuddered and came, both loving and hating how his chest and rear bounced when he tensed and spasmed.  When his shortened hose was done spraying, a pair of small, neon briefs formed out of nowhere.  The thin pink cotton popped against his golden tan as it left more of him on display than covered.  He could feel his oversized ass hanging mostly exposed out the back while he stared at the compact lump filling out the pouch in front.   

He giggled at the thought of his warped body prancing around in nothing but the revealing underwear.  And prance he did.  His straight masculinity was gone entirely.  The guy who liked working out and playing sports so much didn’t exist anymore.  Zack still liked working out, but only because it let him show off his body and be around other guys.  He wanted people to stare and touch.  He wanted to use his body, not his brain.  

As he flexed and prodded his altered frame in front of the mirror, Zack was too far gone to notice the reflection of the window behind him.  The bright sunlight and blue sky were gone.  In their place loomed a darkened, purple vista with a black, smouldering sun hanging low above the horizon.  Instead of the city around them, the window looked out on a vast, shifting desert with crumbling towers far in the distance.